


Feeling Dean

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Mojo, Boys Kissing, Castiel Being an Idiot, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Dean Has Issues, Dean Has Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mark of Cain, Protective Sam Winchester, the title is a joke i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Mark gets harder for Dean to bear, Cas steps up to ease his pain.<br/>(Based off ep 10x09 "The Things We Left Behind")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Dean

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever, so any critique, tag suggestions, etc would be much appreciated! I hope you all enjoy :)  
> (If enough people like this I may do a sequel...?)  
> ~Valkyrie Kane~

         Dean was shaking, sweat drenching his shirt, hands fisting the sheets. His arm was on fire.

          _A nightmare…just another nightmare…_

         Except it wasn't just another nightmare. Ever since the Mark of Cain had seared into his skin, he couldn't get the images out of his head.

_Sammy’s head bashed against the wall, Castiel’s shocked face as his Angel Blade rips apart his stomach, the bodies burning on the ceiling…burning, burning, burning. Everything in flames, everyone dying, and it was all his fault, his fault because he had to kill kill kill make it stop makeitstop MAKEITSTOP_

         And suddenly, there was nothing. He didn’t feel like screaming or crying, he felt….at peace. Like he was basking in a wave of light and nothing else mattered except its warmth. His hands unclenched, no longer trembling. He felt…like he was going to be okay. Dean stretched his hand out, grasping at some invisible force. Briefly, he felt a hand outline his own. It was so gentle, so soft, so good, he thought he imagined it, and then it was gone. _Cas?_

_Go to sleep, Dean. It’s okay, everything is going to be okay._

_Cas…_

_I promise, Dean…_

         The hand brushed against his forehead and then he passed out, his mind at rest.

* * *

         The next day, Dean woke up early. He hadn't felt this good in a long time. He was cooking breakfast by the time Sam stumbled out of bed, ignoring the cautious look on his face.

         "Dean, what-"

         "I'm fine." Dean slid him a plate of steaming food. He saw his brother start to ask another question. "No, really. I'm okay." Sam gave him a long look before eating.

         "So, I think I found our next case…”

* * *

         They went on like this for days. Dean would wake in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking, biting back a scream, and the Cas would come and making everything okay, at least just for the night. The next morning he'd go hunting with Sam. Everything was fine.

         Except it wasn't. Dean felt the mark burning on his arm, he wanted to kill, he needed it. Although he forced himself not to go too far, he was a little more violent than necessary.

         It didn't help that Cas had gone AWOL, but that was to be expected. He never stays. Nothing good ever stays.

         Sam noticed, of course. He saw the way Dean forced his knife into the monster, twisting it cruelly. The way he slammed the Impala doors harder than usual. His short temper around others. Sam didn't know what to do, and once again he felt powerless. Finally, he did something he had almost given up on - he prayed.

_Cas...Cas I know you're busy doing your angel stuff or whatever, but you need to come back. If you ever cared about us...about Dean, please...._

         Cas didn't come that time. _Figures._

* * *

         When Cas showed up at the bunker a few weeks later, Sam was livid.

         "I need your help, it's about-"

         "You have no right to come here and ask for our help! I've been calling you for weeks and you never answer! Do you even care how bad Dean's gotten?!"

         "Sam, I-"

         "Stuff it," Sam growled, shutting the door in his face. He turned around and ran into a beige trench coat. "Dammit Cas!" _Fucking angel mojo._

         “Sam, please! It’s Claire, Jimmy’s daughter. I - I made a mistake and she’s in trouble.”

         Sam groaned inwardly. He couldn't just abandon an innocent person because Cas was an idiot. “I’ll get Dean,” he says tightly.

* * *

         Dean stares up helplessly at the horrified faces of Sam and Cas. “I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to!” Dean is kneeling in a puddle of crimson, surrounded by mangled bodies. His hands, hot with fresh blood, are shaking so badly that the knife slips, nearly slicing through his thigh. In the crushing silence, it clatters to the floor like a shock of thunder.

         In an instant, Sam is by his side. “Tell me it was you or them.” He grips at Dean’s jacket, his voice high and frantic. “Tell me it was you or them!” Dean’s silence is answer enough, and Sam’s hands clench harder at the fabric. A gentle hand touches his shoulder, and then Castiel is pulling him away, asking him to take Claire back to the bunker, telling him he’ll take care of Dean.

         “I promise, Sam, I’ll take care of him. I’m not leaving, not this time.” Sam swallows hard, nodding and backing away, understanding.

         The moment he leaves, Cas is on his knees, reaching out to Dean. His hands cup his face, but Dean can’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “Look at me, Dean.” His voice is soft and commanding and Dean wants to sink into it, wants to let Cas tell him It's okay, it doesn't matter, but he can’t. He doesn't deserve that luxury. He did this. “Dean.” Cas lifts his chin until Dean’s terrified gaze is locked onto his.

         “I - I did this...I swear I didn't mean to!” Dean is pleading, with Cas or with himself he doesn't know. All he does know is that this can never happen again. He won’t allow himself to become the monster that’s threatening to claw its way out, and suddenly a thought hits him with blinding clarity. “Cas...Cas remember what you promised me? You said if things got this bad, you’d stop it, you’d stop me.” Suddenly Dean surges forward, his grip on Cas’s forearms painfully tight. “You gotta do it now.”

         A myriad of emotions flicker through Cas’s eyes as he cocks his head thoughtfully. “I promised I would do whatever it takes….but I won’t hurt you,” he says with finality.

         “You fucking promised!” Dean growls, lunging at Cas, who catches him easily, wrapping his arms around him. He murmurs something in Enochian, and then Dean is blacking out.

* * *

         When Dean wakes, he’s back at the bunker, in his own bed. “Sonofabitch,” he hisses. His clothes have been changed, and he’s no longer slick with blood, secretly relieved to not wake up caked in the stuff. Something rustles beside him, and he rolls over to find Cas standing nearby, looking concerned, hesitant. A wave of guilt washes over Dean as he remembers last night, remembers attacking Cas, making him sick to his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, turning away.

         “It’s okay, Dean.”

         The bed dips gently as Cas sits beside him. Another moment of hesitation, and then Cas’s hands are rubbing soothing circles on his back. Cas can feel him tensing up, ready to bolt, but Cas is relentlessly gentle. “Why are you still here?” Dean squirms under Cas's hands, his words muffled by the pillow.

         “I know that I haven’t done a good job of being there for you, but I’m not going to leave you again. Especially not like this.”

         “I could have killed you.” Dean's miserable voice makes Cas want to hug him forever, to wrap his wings around him in a warm, fluffy cocoon, to make the rest of the world go away until all that's left is Dean's shy smile.

         He doesn't though, because Dean needs his _personal space, Cas. Ever heard of that?_

         “You wouldn't have.”

         His head comes off the pillow in frustration, and he jerks away from Cas. “You don’t know that. I could have killed Sammy. Or Claire.” Dean swallows hard. “I can’t keep doing this. No one else is going to get hurt for me.”

         “Dean…” Cas makes a move to stop him from leaving, but he knocks his hand away in frustration.

         Without warning, Dean is pinned to the bed by some invisible force, and Cas is looming over him, no longer tentative and cautious. “Stop,” he demands as Dean struggles and curses. Dean ignores him. “The men you killed were not good people. They threatened us, you warned them, and they didn't listen.”

         “So what? I feel the Mark of Cain every fucking day, Cas. I can’t even look at someone without itching to kill them.” Dean stops struggling as he turns his head away, ashamed. _God he's pathetic._

         Dean feels Cas’s grace loosen its hold on him. “I thought those...urges had become manageable,” Cas frowns.

         “They were. A while ago.” Dean’s words aren't accusatory but Cas feels a pang of guilt anyways. He’d been so preoccupied with trying to restore order to heaven and find the other angels that Dean’s needs were pushed to the side. _Never again,_ Cas swears. He couldn't really leave him alone if he tried.

         Cas withdraws his grace from Dean’s tense form and replaces it with his hands. They start on his stomach, light, loving touches, slowly gliding up his chest, his arms, and finally coming up to frame his face. Dean stares up at him, his eyes unreadable, but not hard. “What are you doing?” he whispers.

         “Do you want me to stop?” The question hangs in the air until Dean closes his eyes. “I would never do something you didn't want me to do.” His hands remain, however, stroking gently at his hair.

         "Don't."

         The hands stop. "Don't what?"

         "Don't stop," he chokes out, and then Cas' hands are running properly through his hair and his lips become a gentle pressure against Dean's and it’s heaven. Cas thinks God got it wrong, heaven’s not a paradise in the sky, it’s this exact moment, it’s their lips working in unison, it’s their tongues tangling together, it’s just being here with Dean. Not worrying, not thinking, just _feeling_.


End file.
